


Liminal Warmth

by estir



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Advent Calendar, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bemoaning the loss of timeless antiques in the interest of keeping warm, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flexing those survival skills, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estir/pseuds/estir
Summary: Nor'easters aren't exactly common, but stories of them are plentiful in the small fishing village of Elysia. Even the occasional American at his mainland university knows of the relentless, hurricane-like blizzards. One hits Nova Scotia while they're home on winter break, and it gives Sorey alotmore time to talk to his childhood friend than he had anticipated.





	Liminal Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! My prompt for Dec 19th of the Sormik Advent Calendar Event was _Nor'easter_. I've been in a bit of a writer's block lately, but I hope you enjoy this oneshot. Let me know what you think in the comments!

Sorey adjusts the last antique tv tray into place near the couch. He can feel the teasing warmth of their lowly smouldering fire from outside their makeshift tent of patchwork quilts and canvas tarps. Bitter cold nips at exposed skin at the corners of his eyes and the tips of his fingers, but he ignores the temptation to retreat back into the warm blanket fort for the task at hand. With a sigh, he picks out a few duplicate leather-bound books on Zenrus’ bookshelf and adds them to the small pile of wooden furniture, dried herbs, newspapers, and tacky wooden knick knacks. He tries not to think about how fire will consume it all, will turn it all to ash in the next few days. He knows he’s a bit of a sentimental person, knows becauses he’s been teased for it all his life, but between the cold and the fatigue and the anxiety, he doesn’t have much room left for remorse. 

It’s late anyway, maybe one or two in the morning, but the sky doesn’t look any different from one or two in the afternoon. It’s starting to wear Sorey down, even more than winter’s shorter days tend to. But they can’t let the fire die out, not with Gramps curled up on the couch in his thermals and ponchos and three knit scarves, still shivering softly in his sleep.

He can’t let his thoughts linger on that, either.

“Anything else we need while I’m up?” he stage-whispers toward the familiar shadow that coaxes the fire in the fireplace. Sorey takes note of the heavy art frames that keep the quilts securely in place on the fireplace mantle and leans to triple-check that the edges won’t fall when he ducks back underneath.

A piece of burning wood shifts in the pile of ashes with a distinctive rustle, and the sound fills the cold empty air in the main room for only a moment. Sorey’s heartbeat tries to match the sound instinctively, desperately.

“Did you find any sleeping pills?” Mikleo asks with a breathiness that doesn’t do Sorey’s heartbeat any favors.

“J-just a few,” he says as he ducks back under their blanket fort, “and I brought some generic fever stuff too, just in case. Oh, and vitamins.”

Mikleo shivers violently under his own layers of hats and blankets at the brief intrusion of cold air. Bright violet eyes linger as Sorey exchanges his heaviest coat for a more comfortable sweater. The movements are awkward and precise, bent underneath the quilts and on his knees as he is, but he manages to change outer layers without any casualty. He keeps catching Mikelo watching him, though, and he’s not sure if it’s from boredom or… something else.

“We should probably save them, then,” Mikleo sighs as Sorey deposits his long coat and handful of pill bottles near the hearth with the rest of their meager supplies.

Sorey throws him a look over his shoulder, “You okay? Not falling apart on me already, are you?”

The ensuing snort of laughter absolutely lights up Mikleo’s face brighter than any roaring campfire could dream to glow. “Yeah, just freezing! Will you hurry up?”

Sorey smiles at the blanket-laden arm stretched out at Mikleo’s side and wastes no time ducking back into place underneath their shared cover. He feels Mikelo’s hand hesitate as he takes the corner of the blanket for himself, feels the deliberate brush against his upper back as Mikleo readjusts, and the ensuing blush surely isn’t from the sudden warmth.

Stillness and silence fall between them again, broken only by the crackling fire and the roaring gusts of wind and snow. Sorey shifts into Mikleo’s side, and Mikleo leans further into him. It’s a hesitant give and take while they settle into this nostalgic closeness. Sorey can’t remember the last time they contentedly huddled together like this-- maybe back in grade school, when they challenged who could read the large-print books faster. Something entirely innocent and natural, like hiding from one of the older kids in the village and giggling against the late summer afternoon. On his next slow breath, Sorey can almost taste the lingering ocean air right out of the memory.

His heart aches softly for the past.

Or maybe it’s yearning for a future where the two of them don’t need any excuse to sit together like this. 

Sorey’s not really sure which it is, if there’s any difference between the two at all.

_ Maotelus above _ , he’s been in love for way too long, hasn’t he?

It’s probably better not to dwell on that right now, though. In two weeks, he’ll be back at his university dorm where it’s safe to poke and prod at these feelings until they crawl out of his fluttering stomach in a rush of disparaged laughs and hopeless tears. He just needs to get through this storm first. He needs to focus on keeping the three of them safe. It’ll be okay. He can do this, no problem. Just stay calm.

He startles when a wet cough resounds loudly from the couch behind him, and his flush only grows when it makes Mikleo chuckle.

“Sorey, you’re thinking too much. Calm down.”

He clings to the smile that he can hear clearly in the request. It soothes his short breaths into his own gentle, self-deprecating chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, alright.”

They settle again with long sighs interspersed with random giggles, and Sorey feels his tension easing with the rising gray smoke. He knows he could fall asleep like this, comforted by the sound of Mikleo’s quiet breathing and the feeling of a gloved hand on top of his. They should be watching the fire, should be organizing supplies or tending to the growing mounds of ash, but sleep calls so imploringly at the corners of his mind like sirens on the sea.

“Overthinking never helps,” Mikleo’s voice mutters into the edge of the blankets. The contrasting moroseness pulls Sorey completely back into the present, pulls his consciousness alert and awake to the sudden shift in tone. He blinks harshly, and before he can overthink this instinctive reaction, he moves his hand away from Mikleo’s.

It slowly crawls at the small of Mikleo’s back, between the blanket and Mikleo’s scratchy sweater, until his open palm rests at Mikleo’s waist. When Mikleo doesn’t flinch away, he takes the chance to rub comforting circles with his thumb. He leans his forehead onto Mikleo’s shoulder and closes his eyes. He focuses completely on this amazing person in his hold.

“You’re right,” he says, words drawn from his lips before he can chew them up and mangle their meanings into something less vulnerable, for once, “but it happens sometimes, and that’s okay.”

He feels Mikleo’s muscles relax, feels the breath leave Mikleo’s entire being in one long rush.

“Then before I overthink it, I need to tell you something, Sorey.”

The long sigh leaves Mikleo bereft of air, and when he pulls too much air back into his lungs, he starts to shiver. Sorey shuffles even closer, pulls the blanket tighter around them both.

“I--” Mikleo starts, but his voice chokes on the sound.

“I lo-” he tries again, but again his throat seizes.

It takes a long moment before he can breathe again, before he can compose himself enough to keep a sob from ripping through his petrified throat.

“I… I’ll tell you later, after the storm is over.”

Overthinking it never helps, so Sorey takes the statement at face-value and nods into Mikleo’s shoulder. He’ll worry about it later, when the electricity is back and they don’t have to worry about the pipes bursting through the drywall.

And who knows, maybe he’ll find the courage to share his secret, too.


End file.
